


Another Zimbits Anthology

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Fluff, Jack ZImmermann Works Harder Than God, M/M, One-Shots, Pie, cute boyfriends being cute, cuteness, smut?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-22
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-03 23:16:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12156792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A fic made of all my other ones. Chapters are different one shots. Enjoy!





	1. The Technicalites of Pie and Strudel

**No Warnings Apply! General Cuteness!**

 

It had been a while since Jack had woken up like this. Months, potentially even years. So far back that he had no memory of using another human being as a pillow. It, could possibly, date so far back to the nights he would spend in his mother’s bed when his father was away on trips.

He wished that he had the option to do it more. Or, to have gotten the courage to just admit his crush sooner. All those months he had waited, wondering if it was requited. Now, lying on Bitty’s stomach he wished that he had just manned up and made out with him sooner.

It would have yielded a lot more mornings just like this. Waking up to sunlight filtering through the window; cheek pillowed on the steadily rising and falling of his boyfriend’s (?) chest. It would have yeilded a lot more mornings of realizations that he never would have had before.

Like, Bitty had freckles? Not on his face, not even in the dead of a Georgia summer. But his chest was dotted with these permanent circles. He was tempted to count them, to poke each and every single one of them and make Bitty laugh that stupid laugh of his.

That would require moving. And Jack wanted to do anything but move right now. Squished together in Bitty’s queen bed, his head pillowed on his stomach. He wouldn’t have believed it before but Bitty had pudge. This college hockey player who worked out every day had an adorable layer of pudge across his lower stomach. It was probably due to far too many baked goods and an utter lack of protein.

He laughed.

A stomach growled. Not the one he was lying on, no. Jack’s stomach growled. And, like some Pavlovian response, Bitty’s eyes fluttered open. His mouth stretched into a lazy grin.

“Hungry?”

“Good morning to you too?”

“Morning, Jack. You hungry?”

“No.” Jack’s stomach betrayed him. “Okay, fine, yes I’m hungry. I just really don’t want to move. Or go downstairs.”

Bitty pushed himself into a sitting position, effectively removing Jack’s pillow. “You don’t have to. I’ll be right back.”

He clambered out of bed, and headed across the room to his backpack. Jack admired the view of the tight shorts as Bitty bent down to dig something out of one of the pouches. He barely understood what Bitty was saying, too absorbed in taking in this perfect image.

“---I had some leftover from lunch yesterday. Here.” He tossed a tupperware container at Jack.

Jack popped it open, laughing at the contents. “Apple pie.”

“Strudel.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Is there a difference? I am offended.” Jack held the container out of Bitty’s reach as he lunged to take it back. “You don’t deserve my apple strudel, give it ba-” his words were cut off with a kiss.

“Damn, you’re lucky that I like you.” he stopped his attack, and flopped into Jack’s lap.

“So. The difference between pie and strudel. Enlighten me.”


	2. First Class Sass

**No Warnings! Just Bitty being a chirpy boyfriend.**

 

Bitty was frustrated. It wasn’t hard to tell, what with his perpetual glare at the boarding pass. Oh, and the sighing. Apparently, the issue of Jack buying him a first class ticket was alive and well.

Jack was about ready to shake him by the shoulders and tell him to snap out of it when he stopped. And the witty comments began.

First was his quiet mentions of transformers when he saw the seats. Then came subtle mentions of Wall-E when Jack leaned over to fully recline his seat.

“Bitty. You're flying first class. It's too late to change your seat, just lay back and take a nap. We’ll be there in no time.”

Jack didn’t know if it was just Bitty’s way of irritating him, but he didn’t sleep. Instead, he pulled out his phone and started working through a new set of his french vocabulary.

Normally, mispronunciations didn’t irritate Jack that much, he was Canadian after all. And he was polite. But he sat there unable to believe that any human on the planet could pronounce the word “chaussette” any more wrong than Bitty just did.

“It’s Chau-sett, Bits,” Jack said, leaning over to look at his phone screen. “The phone is speaking it for you. Christe.”

“Oh, chaussette. Okay. Hey, look another French word. Bourgeoisie, am I pronouncing that one correctly?”

Jack smacked him in the face with his pillow. “Just shut up and let me help you with the French.”

Bitty eventually curled up and slept for the rest of the flight. He was so tiny, and able to tuck his knees into his chest and just curl up to sleep. It was adorable, and Jack’s fingers itched to take a picture. But a shitty iPhone camera wouldn't do the perfection of this moment justice.

He just settled back, and cracked open the book he’d been meaning to read. In no time, the flight was already preparing to land, and Bitty was sitting up, rubbing his eyes. He looked at Jack and his face cracked into a grin.

“Excited to go home?” he asked.

“Oh God yes.” Without asking he leaned over Bitty to open the window, and look out. The whole city was glittering with lights, and the streets were white with newly fallen snow. The picture that just screamed Home For the Holidays. Now he really wished he brought his camera.


	3. Baking Day Interrupted

**No warnings! I mean they get a little handsy, if ya get what I'm saying. ;)**

 

Thursday was baking day. Thanks to Hockey he only had one class at 8 am. And only one practice at 3pm. Which allowed five and a half blissful hours of solid baking and vlogging.  
He was in the midst of demonstrating how to make a cookie cutter crust when Lardo shuffled into the kitchen.

“Morning?”

“Mmmppphhh” she shuffled to the coffee pot, filled a mug, drained it and filled it again.

“Lards it's almost 11. Don't you have class?”

“Twelve to one” she was already shuffling back across the kitchen. “Only reason I'm up now s’cause Shits gonna be here in 15.”

“Really? Thought he was coming tomorrow with Jack.”

“I dunno. Have fun with the whatever.” And she was gone.

Bitty went back to filming. He finished one pie, then began mixing up the filling for blueberry.He did a little dance with his hips as he mixed, humming the song playing through his headphones.  
He almost spilled his pie filling when two hands wrapped around his waist and a kiss was pressed into his neck.

Over the pounding beat of his music he felt Jack say “Surprise!”  
He ripped out both of his headphones, spun around and his jaw dropped. Hearing his voice had not quite been enough. But seeing his face, and seeing his smile was enough. He believed that his boyfriend, this stupid boy, had showed up an entire 24 hours early just to surprise him.

“Jack!” was all Bitty managed to utter before warm, familiar lips were gently pressing against his. And pressing a little harder. And, okay maybe Bitty moaned a little bit leaving just enough time for Jack to sweep his tongue across the roof of his mouth.  
His knees gave out, and he slumped against Jack, relishing in the feel of chest against chest; the feel of lip against lip, and skin against skin as Jack’s hand traced up under Bitty’s shirt. He loved the feeling of Jack’s hair as he ignored his purple fingers and ran his hands down his scalp. It was getting long, borderline flo.

Jack’s hands wrapped themselves around Bitty’s waist and hoisted him onto the counter, releasing the tension in both their necks. They were now almost the same height and the kiss deepened, both of them delving further.

“And this is the Haus-” Dex stopped talking. “Dear Lord Jesus Christ, can you two stop for thirty Goddamn seconds!”

Dex, in the middle of helping freshman, was trying so hard not to laugh. The frogs were open mouthed staring at the scene that had just gone down in the public kitchen.

“Okay, lets keep going. Remember the NDAs I had you sign? Well, that’s why. Haus rules.”

“You’re welcome by the way!” Shitty shouted, carrying his bags in. He stepped to survey the scene in the kitchen. “See you two became well acquainted very quickly. Good to see ya’ Bits.”

“You too Shits.” Bitty was blushing up to his hairline. “Why did you guys come a day early?”

“We didn’t really.” Shits said, now halfway into the kitchen. “That romantic right there planned all along to surprise you a day early. Because he’s a fucking sap.”

“He’s my sap,” Bitty said, kissing Jack on the cheek. “Thank you for the surprise.”

"Fine much?" Shitty gagged. “I’ll just leave you to it? C’mon Lardo.” They left the kitchen, Shitty dragging Lardo up the stairs.

“We really should get you cleaned up,” Jack said, brushing at flour residue streaking Bitty’s face.

“I’ll just stick this pie filling in the fridge.” Bitty hopped off the counter, dancing across the kitchen to stick the bowl in the fridge. “You coming?” he asked as he headed for the stairs.  
Bitty and Jack were halfway up the stairs when he heard something. Something that couldn’t be, no. Jack wasn’t laughing was he? He stopped, turned around and saw Jack with a hand clamped around his mouth and eyes glimmering.  
“Are you laughing at me, Jack Zimmerman?”

“You’ve-” he giggled. “Turn around, you’ve got flour all over your ass.”

Bitty huffed, but turned around. “This is why you don’t just plop me on the counter when I’m baking.” The chirping stopped when Jack’s hands came up to carefully dust Bitty’s backside. He stiffened, his blood running in one direction.  
It took him a moment to wrestle the blood back to his head, and figure out how to climb stairs. Step after step until he reached the top step, turned around and surprised Jack with a kiss. Even with a two step difference Jack was about half an inch taller. A half inch that grew as he rushed up the final two steps, picking Bitty up. A shower could wait, but a bedroom - and a bed- could not.


	4. Checking Practice

**No warnings! Upper teen rating.**

Late nights driving around did not lead to very productive mornings. Neither of them wanted to budge when Bitty’s alarm went off the next morning. Even if it was their idea to get up so early.

 

“5:30, Goddamn.”

“C’mon, let's get up.” Jack threw back his half of the covers. “We can run to the rink as a warmup.”

 

“Maybe I didn’t miss checking practice that much.” Bitty groaned as Jack tried to steal the covers away from his side of the bed. “No! Captain Jack is back!”

 

Jack bent over and planted a kiss on Bitty’s cheek, “You admitted you liked me back then. So c’mon, up. Captain Jack wants to get his morning run in.”

 

Bitty rolled out of bed, “I hope you’re happy because you have just been saddled with a very sleep deprived boyfriend.”

 

“I’ll buy you a coffee later. Go get dressed.”

 

Bitty stuck his tongue out at Jack as he poked his head in his closet. Yesterday’s shorts were on the top of his laundry hamper, and he grabbed a random oversized shirt off the shelf.

 

Jack got one good look at him and started to laugh. “That’s  _my_ shirt.”

 

“Is it? Because it  _somehow_ ended up in my closet.”

 

“Well, I like it. Keep it on.”

 

“If you keep looking at me like that, Jack Laurent Zimmerman, we will never make it out of your bedroom and on that run of yours.”

 

Jack wrapped an arm around Bitty’s shoulders and pressed a kiss into his hair. “Race you!” he jogged out the door. “Losing already!” he cried, taking off down the hallway.

 

Bitty ended up winning, beating Jack to the locker room by mere seconds. As they got ready to head to the ice Bitty jokingly asked and held up his hand miming a microphone, “How does it feel to lose to a college hockey player a good foot shorter than you?” in his best reporter voice.

 

Jack made him pay for it on the ice. Even with pads Bitty could feel his ribs protest at every check. Jack was doing everything to check, and Bitty was doing everything in his power to avoid being checked. Even if it meant that he had to risk a ungraceful waltz jump to get away from him fast enough.

 

“I have seventeen new bruises on my right side alone,” Bitty panted when they stopped and moved to the benches.”

 

“Sorry.” But Jack was grinning. And not at all sorry. “Pulling that figure skating move was clever though.”

 

“Waltz jumping out of your way?” Bitty laughed. “I was 500% positive that wouldn’t actually work.”

 

“But it did. It was clever, and that’s important on the ice.”

 

Bitty squirted his water bottle at Jack. He looked astonished, raising his ungloved hand to wipe the water off his face.

 

“We still have another hour on the ice. Are you down for a good ol’ one on one?”

 

“I have another idea.” Bitty was already shedding his pads. He reached behind the benches and pulled out two sets of figure skates. “I stole these from the rental station. Time for a lesson.”

 

The figure skating lesson lasted about 30 minutes. Even in proper skates Jack was impossible to teach. Every spin and attempted jump ended up with Bitty laughing and Jack sprawled out on the ice. And that was the easy stuff.

 

“I give up. But you don’t have to.” Jack winked. “Mind showing me your moves?”

 

Bitty glared at him, but had prepared for this. “Play the song queued up on my phone.” He still vaguely remembered his high school routine. And by vaguely remembered he pulled off almost every move as if it was a part of him.

 

Which it kind of was.

 

He was doing a skating routine to this upbeat classical thing; throwing his body into the air over and over again.

* * *

 

Jack’s eyes were dark when he skated over to meet him. Bitty was grinning, his whole body glowing with the feeling of a well performed routine. Jack lost it when Bitty leaned over to kiss his forehead.

Bitty was just wearing his oversized shirt and a pair of leggings (What? They fit). It was just. God Damn. The skintight pants and the  _flexibility._ It was all just.

 

Merde.

 

Making out against the boards was the most innocent of the things Jack wanted to do in that moment. He was beyond caring if anyone saw. Bitty was a little more worried.

 

“Jack, the pee-wee teams are expected in like five minutes. This will scar them-” he gasped as Jack’s lips made quick work marking his neck. Bitty planted his hands on Jack’s chest and used his strength to push him away.

 

“Let’s go change, okay?” Bitty asked.

 

“Yeah.”


	5. Ah, Christmas

### There's some homophobia, and mentioned sex. None of it is to heavy. 

Family parties were hectic. There was so much to do: pies to bake, rooms to decorate, and the last minute errands to run. Oh, and a new thing on Bitty’s list this year. Prepping himself for the influx of familial, good ol’ southern homophobia.

 

Ah, Christmas.

 

Yet, Bitty wasn’t really worried. There would be the snide side comments, sure, but it would be fine. He had put up with worse before. This time he had allies. Mama and Moomaw were already on the defense, all of them barging into his room to tell him that no matter what the family said they would love him. Even Coach gave him a firm slap on the back and told him “Don’t mind what your Aunts’ll say to you today. They’re just gossip hags.”

 

He had spluttered on his coffee, already wishing he could spike it with something a little stronger. Today was going to be long, but at the end of it he would be alright. Bitty was sure of it. Jack, however, was a different story. Bitty was starting to regret calling him.

 

“She said what?!” Jack asked, and Bitty could hear his frustration. His fists would be clenched, the vein in his jaw ticking. His accent was much more pronounced when he was this pissed off and his words slurred together. “To your face?!”

 

Bitty ground his own teeth together, trying to distract himself. He had been assigned to cooking dinner; Mama was being overprotective. When the Aunts got drunk their words got loose. Which is why he (stupidly) told Jack: “That’s not even close to what Aunt Jem said when she got here. She doesn’t even have three glasses of wine as an excuse.”

 

“Being drunk isn’t an excuse.”

 

“That’s not even close to their limit, hon.” Bitty nestled the phone in his ear as he stirred the gravy on the back of the stove.

 

“Doesn’t matter. So what exactly did Aunt Jem say?”

 

“I’m not going to tell you. You seem pissed off enough already,” he stuck a bite of potatoes into his mouth. Nowhere near done.

 

“I’ll keep it down. It just makes me want to strangle them. They can’t get away with this shit!”

 

“They can down here!” Bitty argued, giving into his growing frustration. “It goes unnoticed, just dismissed as ignorance at best. At the worst everyone just agrees and continues on with their lives.”  He slammed the fork into the sink. “Like when Aunt Jem asked me if Jack is short for Jacklyn all the Aunts just tittered. Because to them it’s perfectly okay, and hilarious to mock their nephew.”

 

“Bitty,” and now Jack was the voice of calm. “You don’t have to put up with that shit.”

 

“Damn right I don’t!” Bitty snapped, trying to keep from yelling.  “And I wasn’t going to put up with that, I told Mama that. Even if it starts a family feud I’m not going to stand there and be mocked. And she agreed, she said to fight back. Maybe not in the way I did, but it worked pretty damn well.”

 

“What did you do?”

 

“I showed her - accidentally - that picture I took of you last week.” Bitty was laughing, and the tension drained out of him, as he heard Jack join in. Maybe it hadn’t been a bad idea.

 

“The one after skating? When we...”

 

“Yup.”

 

Jack was still laughing, “I should yell at you, but Christe, Bits. Remind me never to mess with you.”

 

Bitty wiped a tear out of the corner of his eye, and looked up as the kitchen door creaked open. “Will do babe. And my cousin just poked his head into my sanctuary. Whatcha need Tom?”

 

“More wine.” he tossed an empty bottle into the recycling. “Aunt Jem drained the last of it.”

 

“Here you go hon.”

 

In his ear Jack asked, “Accent much?”

 

Bitty’s brow furrowed, “You can be quiet mister.”

 

“Sorry?” Thomas asked, turning around in the kitchen doorway. “I don’t  _think_ I said anything?”

 

“No, you didn’t.” Bitty pointed to the phone.

 

“Oh. Is that your boyfriend?”

 

“Not for much longer if he keeps chirp - teasing me.”

 

“Oh.” Thomas looked confused. “Anyway, thanks for the wine, and tell him I say hi. And that I think what you’re doing is cool. Like really cool. And really, fuck Aunt Jem, she just hates anything that’s not like her. Remember when Suze had that black boyfriend? She’s  a bitch when she’s drunk.” And he left the kitchen, leaving Bitty gaping and holding onto the counter for support.

 

“You okay, cher?” Jack asked.

  
“Thomas, just.” And maybe he was crying a little. “He- Thomas. It’s just this family is more on my side than I thought, that’s all.”


	6. Chapter 6

**[REDACTED] is approached, but not actually stated.**

 

Bitty had one tuxedo. It was the byproduct of many southern weddings, holiday masses, and the occasional funeral. His mother had bought it for him halfway through high school, and it had hung in the back of his closet ever since Lardo’s art exhibit.

He really should have tried it on before it was too late. But, here he was wriggling and squirming in a desperate attempt to get his thighs past the tight waistline. He was cursing everything under the sun; mostly Holster and his stupid squat regimen.

“Bitty?” Jack poked his head out of the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”

“Just,” he tugged, “In need,” another tug, “Of a new pair of pants.” One final tug and they were on. They were tight, but they were on. He was absolutely certain that they weren’t going to come off anytime soon.

“Didn’t you try them on before you got up here?”

“I didn’t think I needed too! But apparently my ass has grown exponentially since Sophomore year!” Bitty angrily tugged on his dress shirt.

“I could have told you that,” Jack said, crossing the room. “Those pants are positively sinful.” He adjusted Bitty’s collar.

“You’re going to have to cut them off of me,” Bitty turned around to grab his tie. And it was a total accident that he knocked it onto the floor and had to bend over to get it.

“Christe,” Jack muttered, “I’m going to go finish getting ready so I don’t have to brush my teeth all over again.”

Bitty winked at him as he tied his tie. “If that’s what you really want.”

“I really don’t want to be late!” Jack called, already back in the bathroom. “So you keep your flirty comments and your tight pants to yourself.”

They weren’t late. They made it out the door just as Georgia called to tell them that they were outside. Thanks to the swankiness of this New Year's Charity Gala she had pulled out all the stops and rented a limo for the team. Now nobody could be late, and nobody could make the excuse not to go. Georgia Martin knew where they lived, and wasn’t afraid to use it against her players.  
Jack was thankful for this idea. Thanks to George’s thinking all the players would be on the red carpet at once. It helped with the anxiety of talking to the press if he had people at his back. It probably had Bitty’s anxiety at bay knowing that Jack, the players, and their wives were here to help. Most of them were already cooing over Bitty’s baking and coaching him on how to handle the press mobs on the red carpet.

“Just smile and stand by Jack. You’re there to support him, and that’s all the media cares about. You’re an old friend hanging out with him for the New Years.”

Bitty was nodding, “Okay, that makes sense. So just don’t say anything?”

“Unless they ask you a question.”

Bitty nodded. He could do this, it would be easy. Smile, nod and watch Jack entertain the press. If his life went the direction he wanted then this would soon become old hat for him. Going to big swanky parties would be something he did on an off Friday evening. Hopefully he’d have a better fitting suit by then.

He could do this. It was just another step into his future.

Bitty did it. He regretted it almost immediately, but by then he was out of the limo and Snowy’s wife (Patricia?) was dragging him along down the red carpet laughing at how the reporters seemed to dive straight for Jack. He was Bad Bob’s son, press legendary, and he handled himself like it. Bitty got lost in watching him field the press; simultaneously answering questions and steering Bitty along.

He took a deep breath and slumped against a rack of coats. “Jesus Christ how do y’all stand it?”

“It’s instinct,” Marty said, folding his wife’s coat over his arm. “Kinda like playing hockey.”

“Hockey seems to be a lot less violent,” Bitty laughed, leaning back into Jack’s hands as he pulled his coat off. This was the most contact they could have all night, and it felt good to have Jack’s strong hands running across his shoulders. Bitty leaned into the contact and Jack squeezed.

“You want a glass of champagne?” Jack asked, the two of them standing in the doorway to the ballroom. A room full of swanky executives all wearing Armani and couture.

“There anything harder?”

“If you wanted tub juice you should have stayed at the Haus.”

They were already moving across the ballroom, heading for the open bar.

Bitty took advantage of the din to lean over and murmur: “Miss you in that suit? Never.” He flicked his eyes up and down once, grinning when Jack blushed.

“Just wait here,” Jack elbowed Bitty. “I’ll be back in a jiffy with your drink.”

Bitty stood, stranded, at one of the standing tables scattered around the edges of the ballroom. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, fishing his phone out of his suit coat. He glanced at the crowd around him to assuage his fear. Nobody was looking at his phone, or at him. He sent a quick text to Jack.

“You look a little out of place,” a voice said behind his shoulder. “Don’t think I’ve seen anyone look more nervous at one of these things!” Bitty scrambled to tuck his phone away as a woman set her clutch down on the table. “Other than me, that is.” Her accent was southern. Alabama?

“I’ve never been to a swanky party like this.” Bitty opened the floodgates on his accent. “But that’s a bit obvious ain’t it?”

The woman laughed and clapped her hands. “Another Southern Belle, thought I was the only one into hockey.”

“I don’t think they know what hockey is below the Mason Dixon line,” Bitty waved Jack over. “Name’s Eric Bittle.” he stuck out his hand.

“Kathleen Rogers,” she shook his hand. “Local hockey reporter. You?”

“Just a fan. My old college teammate plays for them.” It was his typical greeting.

“Jack Zimmerman?”

“That would be me,” Jack said, causing Kathleen to spin around in surprise.

“Jack Zimmerman. Holy shit, i’ve been trying to get an interview with you for months.” She openly gaped when Jack handed her a glass of champagne. “Do you mind if I ask you some questions? It’s a bit on the spot, so I get it-”

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Kathleen scrambled to pull her phone out of her purse. “Okay, umm,” she froze, hitting buttons on her phone. “Okay, so on the spot for me too. I guess, what’s it like switching from college hockey to pro? Was it a hard transition?”

Bitty hung around for the brief interview. Kathleen was so genuine, barely mentioning the few things Bitty knew she needed to know. There was nothing pertaining to the overdose, or Bad Bob, or Parson. It was just sports: what it was like to play with the Falconers, who was his favorite teammate. She even asked Bitty some questions, mostly about what it was like to see an old friend play in the big leagues.

 

“Terrifying,” Bitty laughed. “It’s scary knowing that you don’t really have his back out on the ice anymore. But I’ve met his teammates and they’re good people. They get him hurt and he’ll have the SMH team descend on them in force.”

Kathleen laughed. “Thank you so much guys, sorry to interrupt your night. I’m certain y’all are here to rub elbows with people a lot more rich than a journalist trying to break into a career in the sports world.”

“It wasn’t an issue,” Jack was smiling at her. He looked relaxed, something that wasn’t normal for Jack. “If you want I can get you hooked up with the rest of the team.” he waved at Snowy as he passed by. “Snows, this is Kathleen, a burgeoning sports reporter. Mind answering a couple of questions?”

Snowy shrugged. Kathleen died. Bitty and Jack took that moment to slip away.

“Champagne?” Bitty asked, holding up his empty glass.

“Cider actually. Sparkling.” Jack handed Bitty his glass. “Thanks ch- Bittle.”

Bitty’s phone buzzed in his pocket as he waited for the bartender to pour them new glasses. He looked down at his phone. Jack had replied. And Bitty was now blushing up to his hairline. He croaked out a thanks, grabbed his glass and halfway drained it.

Jack was in conversation with an elderly woman who was important donor to the Jr. Falcs campaign. Jack was smiling and nodding. His shoulders were stiff again, and Bitty lingered his contact as he passed Jack his glass. He heard them talking about how it was important to get children into sports at a young age. It was vital for future health as their bodies slowed into old age.

“Bittle here actually teaches skating summer camps,” Jack mentioned in passing. “Don’t you, Eric?”

“Not skating, per say, but hockey and figure skating. Ours is a community hockey team, not through the school. They’re actually how I got into hockey. It’s a hard thing to be found in the South.”

The woman laughed, “I grew up in Minnesota, so I can’t say the same thing for them. Hockey was everywhere in my high school. Then again, it was the Iron Range. Practically Canadian? Right Jack?”

Jack grinned, laughing. “Close but no cigar. Still the States I’m afraid. Besides, no poutine or Tim Hortons.”

Bitty took this moment to relax. He was fine, doing just as he should. Standing by Jack, nodding, laughing and paying attention. He looked like a dutiful friend enjoying the free bar provided at a swanky party. He was even tipsy enough to dance with Kathleen.

“I’ve seen some of your videos,” she admitted. “I think you should be dancing with some of the very attractive reporters I know.” She nodded at a young man in a bowtie talking to Poots.

“And cause a scandal?!” Bitty asked, laughing.

“Need to find you someone to kiss at midnight,” she said.

“He’s not my type,” Bitty admitted, and it was the truth. Jack Zimmerman was his type. The reporter was too blond. And short. And in the wrong profession. “I’m really not looking right now. Focusing on my future, y’know?”

“Preach,” she muttured. “Maybe I’ll just kiss you at midnight.” She laughed as his startled expression, “Platonically. Bro.”

Bitty laughed, “You’ve got the bro slang down Kat. Now I’ll just introduce you to some old friends to teach you the rest of the hockey slang you need to know to get by.”

“I have a good grasp,” she leaned in closer as they continued dancing, “Like how your boyfriend is growing a borderline flo? Is that the term?”

Bitty almost stopped in the middle of the dance floor. He almost tripped over his feet, his brain shut down. Kathleen… knew? “How?” he asked as he managed to continue to dance.

“Don’t worry, it’s not going in that article. Mum’s the word, especially in this industry. But I’ve been in secret relationships before. I know what it looks like. I’ll cover for you two if you want to sneak away at midnight, if you want.”

Bitty fought back tears. His voice was choked when he said, “Thanks Kathleen, I can’t formulate how grateful I am. And I think when we come out we know who we’ll do it with. Really skyrocket your career. As a thanks.”

“I’m really doing nothing.”

“You’re doing everything.” Bitty pulled them off the dance floor, pulling his phone out of his pocket. Another text from Jack; Bitty was now impervious to blushing. “What’s your address?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m sending you a case of pie. What’s your address?”

The whole crowd was counting down to midnight outside. Bitty and Jack leaned against the doors to the hallway, holding full glasses of champagne. They had matching grins, and were just staring at each other with all the expressions they couldn’t make in public.

“Un” Jack whispered, his lips mere centimeters away from Bitty’s lips.

 

“One” Bitty whispered, and he pressed his lips against Jack. It was supposed to be only a few seconds. They didn’t have much privacy, or much time. But they had this, the muffled sounds of cheering, and the band striking up Auld Lang Syne. They had each other, hands twisted in lapels, lips smashed together. Jack tasted like the fake champagne he had been drinking all night. Bitty tasted like the hor'dourves he needed the recipe for.

The whole moment felt magical. Their first New Year’s kiss.

“Happy New Year,” Bitty whispered.

 

Bitty was more than a little tipsy when the limo pulled up on the curb. He wasn’t the only one. Somehow a third of the hockey players had managed to have one too many glasses of champagne. They were all loud and laughing in as the limo dropped them off at their homes.

Bitty was always handsy when he was tipsy. His hand didn’t leave Jack’s thigh the entire ride home, and when they were the only remaining ones Bitty crawled into Jack’s lap, pressing his lips against his throat.

“Jack, those texts,” Bitty moaned. “Were you serious?”

“Just wait till we get home cher. I’ll have you up well into the New Year.”

Bitty moaned again, and his hand shifted. Jack’s breath hitched. “How do you say Happy New Year in French again?”

“Bonne année, cher. Bonne année.”

* * *

* * *

_< To: Jack> _ _  
_ _I must say, sir. Those pants do accent that ass quite well. ;)_

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_Like you can talk. I can see your.. Well. Your everything. Not that I’m complaining

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_I should bring you more often if you provide eye candy like that.

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_So you must want me to keep them on all night, right?

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_On the contrary. I plan to admire… well, everything without pants when we get home.

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_I’m surprised you would text such lewd things in a public place, Mr. Zimmerman.

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_It’s your fault!

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_Your pants fault, really. I can hardly tear my eyes and my thoughts away.

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_You’ll be tearing a lot more than that later…

 _< From Jack> _ _  
_So I’m adding dress pants shopping to the to-do list for tomorrow?

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_I don’t know. We could preserve these pants for another night.

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_J.K. They are cutting off circulation to my thighs.

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_Or is that all your blood going… elsewhere?

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_My attempts to find a deserted closet have been renewed.

 _< To: Jack> _ _  
_You see that wooden door next to the bar? Meet me behind it with 60 seconds on the clock. <3

 _< From: Jack> _ _  
_George says we can go. Storage closet idea thrown out for an actual bed. Meet me in the coat closet in ten. <3

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Homophobic Assholes Ahead. Proceed with caution.**

 

Bitty’s whole body clenched as Jack was slammed against the boards. Hard. His fingers dug into the hard plastic of the seat’s armrests, his breath hitched in his throat. He could feel the hard seat digging into his thighs as he leaned forward, perching, trying to get as close to Jack as possible.

“Lardo,” Bitty choked out. “That was-”

“An asshole move!” Lardo shouted at the ice, “And totally illegal! He wasn’t anywhere near the puck you dick!” She looked at Bitty, grinning. “Shitty’s right. Yelling’s very cathartic.”

“Ass!” Bitty tried quietly. Then, louder. “That’s my boyfriend you’re fucking with!” he yelled louder, feeling all eyes swivel towards where he was seated. “He could out-skate you any day 17, and you know it!”

“And, oh, look at that. The ref isn’t even going to call it! Come on man I can’t even skate and I know that!!”

Bitty’s laugh burst out of him, and he took a sip of his soda as play resumed on the ice. He choked on it only a few moments later as Jack was slammed against the boards again. Bitty hadn’t been able to see it too well, but one second the puck was shooting in the opposite direction of Jack. Jack, who had been thrown up against the boards. Hard. The whole stadium seemed to rattle.

Bitty’s coke caught in his throat. He couldn’t breathe around it. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak. His fingers were digging into Lardo’s arm, the nails close to breaking through the skin. He didn’t care, he was trying to find words. They burst out of him as Jack got up, shook himself off and threw him back into the play.

“Lardo.” Bitty’s voice was laced with concern. “That’s not how Jack skates. I know Jack, and that’s not how he skates. He’s limping. He’s hurt that asshole hurt him, and now he’s not skating right. He’s not leaving the ice, but he’s not skating right and-”

“Bitty.” Lardo’s voice cut through the panic. She pried Bitty’s hand off her arm. “If Jack’s still skating, it means he’s fine. Look, the team has got his back.” She pointed to Marty, who was skating full bore after number 17. “Marty isn’t going to let him get away with it.” Number 17 was checked hard against the boards, Marty just dodging as another player came after him.

“He’s not-” Bitty’s words were cut off as a glove clattered onto the ice. Marty’s glove. “Holy shit.”

Refs broke up the fight a few moments later. Number 17 had lost his helmet, and his nose was gushing blood. Marty was hauled off the ice into the penalty box, and the crowd was losing it, some booing, some cheering Bitty sat there, eyes blown wide, unable to take his eyes of Jack.

“He’s still skating wrong,” Bitty muttured. “But he’s not going to go out now.” He looked at the clock, slowly running out of time. Falconers were one point behind. “C’mon Jack. Show them what you can do.”

What Jack could do was his usual 110%. Even hurt, he skated clean, he skated well, and got a puck in the net just as the clock counted out final seconds. Bitty was stunned in his seat, unable to move. He just stared at the net, even as the players cleared the ice, and the fans cleared the stands.

Lardo’s hand on his shoulder broke him out of his revelry. He lept to his feet, pulling her into a hug, squeezing her as close as possible. “God damn!” he said, finding his vocal cords. “Talk about makin’ your boyfriend proud.” But his accent leaked out around the lump in his throat.


	8. Chapter 8

**Nothing to worry about with this one m'dudes.**

 

Bitty was used to waking up to the soothing sounds of his alarm clock. He was used to waking up at 7:00, and making his way leisurely out of bed. Jarring awake at 2:30 to the thump of Beyonce was not something that usually happened.

Sleepy, he reached over, trying to turn off the offending noise. Deep in the parts of him brain yet to wake up he registered that it was Jack’s ringtone, and why would Jack be calling so late? The search for the phone was intensified and his hand smacked across it, and smacked around until he found the answer button.

“Yes?” Bitty asked dragging the phone to his ear, “Please tell me you haven’t shown up on my doorstep, because I really don’t want to leave my bed.”

“Bitty,” and oh God, Jack sounded wrecked. “I didn’t want to wake you up, I’ll just call you back in the morning? Sorry.”

“Jack.” Bitty was sitting up now, and clutching his phone. “Don’t hang up. What’s wrong?”

“I just, ah, did you watch the game today?”

“Yeah?” Jack hadn’t played, and the Falconers had lost. Bad. Kicked out of the playoffs two games in. It was a hard loss.

“It’s my fault isn’t it?”

“Oh, sweetpea, no…” Bitty wished he could reach all the way to Providence and hug Jack. His eyebrows raised as an idea hit him. “It wasn’t anywhere close to your fault, you would have just got more hurt if you had gone. A loss is a loss, and you’ll do better next season.”

“But if I hadn’t been stupid enough to get hurt-”

“Jack.” Bitty’s voice was firm, even as he reached for the planner on his desk, and flipped through it. “Stop. It is not your fault. You got hurt, you got out, and your team lost a game. I’m not saying that your presence on the ice wouldn’t have helped, but there was no way you could have played.”

“But-”

“No buts.” Bitty flipped his planner, showing his class schedule for tomorrow. There was nothing major; no projects due, or tests. He could miss a Friday. Some things were more important.

“Bitty? I love you.”

“I love you too sweetpea. Just remember, you're a lot stronger than you think.” He hoped the jingle of his keys wasn't clear through the phone.

“I wish you were here. You always make it better.” And, oh, that just broke Bitty's heart and cemented his decision.

“I'm closer than you think babe,” Bitty assured, slipping down the stairs and out the door. He put it on speakerphone when he got in his truck, shooting off a quick text.

“Thank you Bittle. I'm ah, going to let you go get some sleep.”

Bitty normally would have protested, but he needed to drive. It was normally a 40 minute drive, but Bitty knew he could push his truck at top speed and make it there in 30. Jack would only be alone for thirty minutes.

The highways were empty this late at night. Or was it this early in the morning? The clock in Bitty’s truck read 4:02 when he got out. His stomach was fluttering, but a text from Jack only ten minutes ago reassured him that this was the right thing to do. And that Jack was still awake.

 

I’m in bed. Maybe skype tomorrow, after class?

This wasn’t the first time Bitty had used his key, but usually Jack knew he was there. This time he had to turn the key in the lock as silently as possible. Once inside he slipped off his shoes and his coat. He managed to not make a single noise until he was in the doorway of the bedroom,, looking at Jack’s huddled form under the covers. He wasn’t even close to being asleep, the light was on and Jack’s back was turned. The faint sound of pages turning gave him away.

“Hey,” Bitty said gently. “A little birdy told me you were having a bad day?”

Jack jumped, flipped around; his book landing with a thump on the floor. His jaw was resting somewhere around where the book had fallen, his voice was hoarse when he whispered, “Bitty. Why are you here? Not that, euh, not that I mind particularly, but you have class tomorrow and-”

“School isn’t always the most important thing, sweetpea.” Bitty tugged off his sweatshirt and climbed into bed next to Jack. “You sounded like shit, and I have a car now. So…”

Jack laughed, and hugged Bitty closer to his chest. “Bud, you didn’t have to do this. This is-” he squeezed Bitty closer. “Thank you.”

“I did too have to do it, but we are not having that argument again. I just really want to curl up with you and sleep. Unless you want to talk?”

“You drove to another state at 4:30 in the morning, Bittle. We are getting some sleep.”

“And you’re skipping optional skate in the morning, right?”

“The season is over, so I guess I can.” He tensed up, and hissed in pain. “George wouldn’t let me on the ice anyway.”

“Your ribs still hurting, babe?” Bitty murmured, already drifting off.

“Mmmhmm. In the morning, okay?” And Jack, too, was slipping off into sleep. The anxiety was still there, buzzing around his veins, but Bitty numbed it. Here, in his arms, was a boy who would, seemingly, love him no matter what he did. Before finally drifting off Jack snuggled closer and kissed Bitty’s forehead.

“I love you, and thank you. But you shouldn’t have skipped class.”

Bitty snored in response.


End file.
